Gone, but not forgotten
by Liraeyn
Summary: Formerly Windows. There are those that we just glance at, then move on. We decide they don't matter. But all deserve to have their stories told.  On hold unless I get some extra idea.
1. Melor

Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Cycle. If I did, the books would be a lot shorter, and #4 would already be out.

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Author's note: This is something that a few people are doing over on the Warriors fandom. Bear in mind, though, that I am currently writing another multi-chapter story, so updates will be sporadic.

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He had never wanted this.

Melor was an ordinary citizen, living in the Empire, perfectly content with his life, helping his parents and sister, Elyi, in their shop, until King Galbatorix had sent a messenger into Tierm, saying that all men of fighting age were to join the army. He had answered the summons, knowing what would most likely happen to his family if he refused.

Training was brief, and comprised an oath of service in a language he did not understand. There were a few practice missions, and that was it.

The first real missions were mostly border patrols, making sure that the Empire's borders were secure. Nothing of significance took place, except for once seeing a strange bird that many suspected to be a dragon, though none said it.

On the fifth mission, however, everything went wrong.

They had been marching down a road, when their leader had decided that he couldn't leave two civilians alone. Melor had been watching the surroundings for danger, not really paying attention to the others, when suddenly everything shattered.

The captain had fallen to the ground, struck by something in the side of his head. The two "civilians" had then turned on the whole company, attacking them in turns.

Melor had run for it, knowing that he couldn't fight against such strength, but it was hopeless. The attackers hunted them down mercilessly. He begged for mercy, telling them about his family, that they would miss him, but they refused, saying something about needing to hide. _Why is your life so much more important than mine? _

"You're a monster!" He thought of Elyi's face, how she looked when she was smiling. _Little sister, farewell. At least we got to say goodbye. _

Then everything was dark.


	2. Fathi

I still don't own it.

* * *

"What's going on?" Fathi asked his parents. They were hiding in a room, watching the battle rage outside their window. Hemma, his little sister, and Rogi, their baby brother, were completely quiet.

"The Varden are attacking the city," his father replied. "They are trying to overthrow King Galbatorix."

"But why are they attacking us? We haven't done anything wrong."

His mother sighed. "I don't know, Fathi. I just don't know."

They were interrupted by the sound of soldiers crashing through the front door. Hemma squeaked and buried her face in her mother's shoulder.

Fathi silently got up and stood by the door. He could hear fighting in one of the nearby rooms. Then everything was silent. A dark figure walked past. Fathi lunged at him with his knife, but something stopped him in midair. The figure turned.

Fathi gasped. He recognized the young man from the posters that had been put up all over Feinster. _The Varden's Dragon Rider! He's only a couple of years older than I am._ That scared him. Somehow, fighting had always been something that adults did, and children were left out of.

He could see his parents standing at the door to the room in which they had been hiding, looking scared. Rogi was crying.

The Rider removed the knife from Fathi's hand, setting it on the floor. Fathi stepped back. The Rider said something (nervously loudly), about how they should stay in the house until the fighting was over -(_as if we didn't know that already_)- and then apologized. _For what?_ Fathi wondered. _A lot of people would have killed me. _

But the Rider hadn't. He just left. Fathi would never forget him.


	3. Helam, Achmi

I definitely don't own the Inheritance Cycle. Maybe the other way around.

* * *

"and even... somebody with a pitchfork..." -Eragon

* * *

The other soldiers in the Varden teased Helam sometimes, saying that he didn't have a proper weapon. He had joined them after his farm was destroyed in an Urgal attack, taking with him only the one thing that he had managed to rescue, a four-tined pitchfork.

Achmi was the worst, constantly comparing his own sword (that the Varden had made and given to him) to Helam's choice of weapons.

The captain of their company, Lim, finally put a stop to most of the soldiers, pointing out that it was the soldier, not the weapon, which won the battle. But Achmi still had his aura of superiority.

Until the battle.

* * *

The new Rider had come to Farthen Dur a few days earlier, seeking shelter. Helam's company was sitting around a cookfire, eating supper. As usual, Achmi resorted to his favorite pastime.

"That Rider is a really good fighter. I saw him duel this elf -very pretty elf, I must say- and they were amazing."

"That's great. Why don't you go tell him that?" Helam retorted. But Achmi wasn't finished.

"He's such a great fighter, I'll bet he could even accomplish something with that stupid pitchfork of yours, Fork Boy."

The other soldiers laughed. Helam glared at his stew and kept eating. _Just you wait, Achmi. I'll show you what my pitchfork can do. _

* * *

It was the next day. They thought. It was hard to tell underground. Sentries in the tunnels had warned of an approaching Urgal army. Even Achmi became more solemn, ceasing his teasing of Helam, for the moment, at least.

The battle was fast, and furious. All too soon, their company was engulfed by the Urgals' teeming masses. Captain Lim was cut down before their very eyes, blood flying everywhere.

Before they knew it, Achmi and Helam were the only ones left, trying to fend off an entire horde of Urgals. Suddenly, Achmi fell. Helam lunged over with his pitchfork, catching an Urgal in the chest. Helam could feel the blood surging in his veins as he defended his army brother, not caring that they had been at loggerheads not long ago.

At that moment, the Rider flew over on his sapphire dragon, scaring the Urgals away for a few critical moments. Helam dragged his wounded comrade over the ground to a tunnel opening, one of the few shelters remaining on the battle field.

The rest of the battle was mostly a blur- all Helam knew was that the Varden had somehow, miraculously, emerged victorious, and the Urgals were gone.

* * *

The day after the battle, Helam visited Achmi in one of the healers' tents.

"How are you doing?" he asked awkwardly.

"I'm alive, thanks to you." Achmi nodded at the pitchfork which Helam still held. "You're pretty fast with that thing, Fork Boy."

"Um, thanks." Helam was embarrassed.

"Hey, I'm sorry I teased you about it."

"Apology accepted."

They shook hands.

* * *

Author's note: For this chapter only, reviewers may smack me and tell me that I should be doing schoolwork and/or updating a story that a lot of people are watching. Enjoy!


	4. Dragon scale, Gertrude?

The amazing Christopher Paolini owns the Inheritance Cycle. I do not.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

_Push the needle through the loop, wrap the yarn around, pull the yarn through the loop, slip the loop off, repeat, repeat… _

Gertrude had been knitting for years, so long that she could do it with half her mind somewhere else- usually off in one of the books she read when she could catch a spare moment. Once in a while she found bits about the Riders, which she treasured. _If only they would come back… _

A knock at her door jolted Gertrude out of her reverie, almost making her drop the impending blanket for her sister's baby. She ran to the door, flinging it open-

"Brom?"

The town storyteller stood at the door, the unconscious, bloody form of Eragon in is arms. Behind him, Horst and Delwin carried Garrow between them. The reclusive farmer looked like most of his skin had been burned off.

She ushered them in quickly, telling them to lay them on the floor. She tended to Eragon first, as she felt she might still be able to help. For Garrow, on the other hand, it seemed the most she could do would be to make him more comfortable.

Eragon's legs were skinned, almost like saddle sores. _Saddle sores? But he wasn't riding anything, was he? _Brom had said merely that Eragon had been found on the road, dragging the badly injured Garrow on a board.

Well, anyway, Getrude had to bandage him up before he lost too much blood. Trying to preserve what modesty the boy might have left, she started cleaning up his legs, sponging off the blood with a wet rag.

She carefully pulled a small, flat, hard object out of his leg, setting on the table as she bandaged him up. After tending to Garrow, whom she had the men move to Horst's house, she cleaned and inspected the strange object.

It was a deep, hard blue, just like the stone Eragon had been carrying around when the traders had last been in town…

She pulled one of the books off the shelf and turned to a brightly colored ink picture of a dragon, next to what it had looked like as an egg. _The egg._ The one in the picture was a deep, rich, chocolate brown, but it looked exactly like the stone. _Egg. It's a dragon scale. Eragon is a Rider! They're back! _

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

Several months later, the baby's blanket was finished, with a small blue dragon scale woven into the exact middle.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

Author's note: Please review?


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